


Shorts Over (Under) Armour

by sirbeatrix



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Suicidal Ideation, if you're looking for smut, look elsewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirbeatrix/pseuds/sirbeatrix
Summary: a collection of vignettes about Kageyama: his life, his loves and his dreams. in Kageyama's POV.





	Shorts Over (Under) Armour

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading.

On the walk to the movie theatre, you fetch your mobile phone from the pocket of your black Karasuno blazer, searching for a number you keep on speed dial. Yawning, Hinata grabs your arm.

“Watch the road, babe. We’re about to cross the street.”

Shaking him off, you dial the number and put the phone to your ear, the wind billowing through your dark hair.

“Hello, Tobio-kun,” a woman says brightly. “Shouyou said the two of you were off to the movies today.” Walking at a brisk trot, then stumbling into a run to keep up with Hinata, you breathe in shallow huffs as you hurry across the road. Slouching at the stoplight, one hand on your knee, you sigh into the phone.

“Next year, when I graduate from college,” you say, “I intend to marry your son.” Watching Hinata as he jolts on his feet mid-step, mouth opening in gobsmacked astonishment, you smirk.

“And does our dear Shouyou know this yet?”

“You bet.”

Ending the call, knowing you cannot possibly keep your conversation going holding him in your arms, you catch Hinata and kiss him with the power to fracture the barrier of the spacetime continuum.

What does it matter, you and he bending time anew yet again?

* * *

 

“I thought I saw a cat hanging around the garbage cans,” Hinata says.

Let loose after a long rain, you head out of his apartment behind him through the back door, trapped in a surreal trance of slow motion. Time, its lingering and stretching into a bending wire, expands the reaches of your consciousness into realms hitherto unexplored.

“A black cat.” Sneezing, Hinata dabs at his nose with rose-dotted kleenex.

“I never see black cats around this neighbourhood.”

It’s not as if you keep tabs on the cats you see and do not see scrounging up morsels of wasted gourmet food from the rubbish bins outside restaurants. Aside from an elementary knowledge of cat breeds from working at a nearby shelter, you remain a novice to the animal kingdom.

Yet ever since Kei, whilst the two of you studied for a Biology quiz in the library, shared with you that no one much cared for black cats in these parts, you’ve kept that fragment of intimate knowledge tacked to the memorandum of your brain. Your friends, and their passions, stay with you.

This tidbit comes back to you when a spry calico bounds across the lid of a metal rubbish bin. Mewling, the sound mangled in a pained decrescendo, she falls, colliding with the lid and crashing onto the slick asphalt.

Rushing across the road, not bothering to check both ways, you kneel on your scabbed knees, bare beneath your black gym shorts. Extending her back left leg in your palm, you wince as she meows.

“She’s hurt bad,” you say, peering at Hinata over your shoulder. Grimacing, he crouches on his heels, a distant breeze ruffling his tousled orange mane.

“Let’s take her to the shelter, Tobio.” Squinting hard, his mouth closes in a pensive line. “Your eyes, I don’t know, it’s like looking way at the bottom of the ocean.”

Lifting the cat in one arm, you brush one free finger under his chin. Deepening in color, he reddens when you kiss him on the forehead, whispering into his hair.

* * *

 

“Since it’s your first time,” you say, “I’m not gonna lie; it’s gonna hurt, baby.”

Breathing in measured gasps, Hinata rolls onto his bare stomach, arching beneath your weight. Though this marks the second time you’ve shown your body in full to another human being, another boy, seeing yourself through his eyes ignites a genuine newness in the soft dimples and divots of your pale skin, in the worth and in the unbearable beauty of your soul.

“I’m ready, Kageyama,” Hinata says. “Hold my hands; that’s all I ask. It’s supposed to stop hurting after a while, the pain, I mean. That’s what I’ve read. And then it’s fun.” Kissing his neck, you nod against the ridges of his collarbone.

“You fucking better not have read that on WebMD, baby. That site’s toxic bad.” Hinata giggles and your stomach burns with a raw ache.

“Would you believe that I read it in one of Shimizu’s books?” Hinata says.

“Yup. She knows what’s up.” Flipping himself back onto his side, Hinata draws you down, cocooning himself in your warmth.

“Honest to goodness, I’m glad I’m not your first time, Kageyama. I’d rather make love with someone who knows what they’re doing. Does that make sense?” Burrowing your face in his hair, inhaling his scent, you submit to the wolfish desire consuming all other thoughts besides loving him.

“I want to hear you say my name, my first name, when we make love, Hinata.” Jolting up, a firm glint of molten gold winking in his eyes, he strokes the dark fringe obscuring your eyes, the fathomless horizons of oceanic voyages staring him down.

“Right back at you, Tobio,” he says. “On your knees, babe.”

* * *

 

Another failure. Slamming your fist into the net, the ball drops from between your arms, echoing in the enormity of the gym. So what if the Freak Quick’s over? You serve no one. Half of Japan values you as a prodigy for one reason: no one can hope to best you, except for Ushijima.

But long ago, through endless skype calls with Suga, you worked yourself up to not dwell on Ushijima Wakatoshi, his love for you flowing in an unending river of unrequited longing that formed tributaries through your heart.

Punching the net, tears strangled in your throat, you bark out the question barricading you from your dreams. “Why’d you fucking have to leave me now, Hinata?” In response, the silence of the gym crushes your bones into brittle white ash. If one more day of this goes by, you might take yourself up on an idea formed in passing involving the rope kept in the back room for team banners and end it all, away from the eyes of those you cherish most, in the manner of a beloved pet staring death in the face and finding no will left to fight.

“He’ll come back, Tobio-kun. I swear to you.”

Scraping snot from your nose, you turn, narrowing your eyes at Shimizu, peeking her head through the heavy double doors of the gym. For once clad in clothes other than her managerial attire, a green and white plaid skirt and a rock band’s well-worn shirt, she might as well attend a different school.

“Want to run an essential feminine errand with me?” she says. Snorting, you crouch to pick up the ball, swallowing back phlegm of tears.

“What, you need tampons or some shit?”

“Indeed. Come away with me, my friend.” Shrugging, you follow her out of the gym, hoping (not without a selfish pang of thirst) that Hinata might return when you come back, alone and in need of a long drink.

* * *

 

“I expected something way more unconventional than tampons.” Shimizu laughs, rounding the corner and leading you down the cosmetics aisle. It’s crowded in the konbini, men from the nearby accounting firm stocking up on sugary sustenance, high schoolers paging through manga by the self-checkout stations, phones beeping with LINE messages.

In spite of your free-falling in tandem with your boyfriend, you’re making eyes with a guy in loud plaid pants, his hair an unkempt minefield of dark filigree, his black glasses flared at their tips like the wings of the messenger god Hermes. A faint smile lingers on his pale lips, hinting at a joke only one of you understands. You recognize the badge on his well-tailored black blazer: Shujin Academy. Your friend, Mishima-kun, played on their volleyball team. Now, having transferred to Shiratorizawa, he’s crushing on Ushijima, blessedly unaware of the Great Ace’s hangup over you.

You blink, giving in to the temptation of saying one word, any word. But the next time you look his way, the boy’s gone.

“That’s some weird shit.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Shimizu loads a package of tampons, lacy and vaguely resembling traditional American Valentines, onto the self-checkout conveyor belt.

“Whatever you mean, I doubt it’s weirder than that dude in those wicked out there pants.”

“That’s exactly who I meant.” In a way, you’re grateful. Apparently, eye-fucking some hot nerd works in terms of weaning your mind off of Hinata for a while.

“Maybe he’ll come back.” You sense that the kid may have torn through the barrier of a nearby dimension and sewed his entry shut before adapting to the newness of a parallel universe.

“I hope not,” you say, drowning the words in a yawn. That encounter, the prospect of what might evolve from it, nips at your stomach with a greedy hunger. Mishima-kun might know the kid’s name.

On the walk back to the gym, your phone vibrates against your thigh. Digging it out, you slow your steps, men in flattened dark suits careening past you on the way to a nearby bar. Smiling, you close your eyes, dragging your fingers across your heart.

“He get back to you?” Gently fingering the back of your hoodie and tugging you to the side of the pathway, Shimizu inches her head toward your phone.

“Yeah. Want to read it?” Nodding, Shimizu slides the phone from your hand, a soft laugh bubbling up in her throat as she reads:

**5:16pm Shouyou**

_spotted you on the way to the konbini. you’re the only person alive who makes athletic shorts over Under Armour sexy as fuck. i’m coming back. you’d best prepare yourself._

“Ladies and gentlemen, non-binary folks,” you say, “the love of my life.”

Pulling you into a lose hug, Shimizu giggles, her glasses glistening in the gossamer twinkling of daybreak.


End file.
